Waiting for my date in the park. We’ll feed ducks. The two gregarious barnyard ducks with the fucked up faces are here. Good news. They come right up to you. Wag their tails and chatter. She’ll be charmed by these friendly fowl and take my milky seed.

Last night’s party. Dave brought a fat 23 year old Asian. She got obliterated. It was nice to be touched. I prayed for the strength not to try to fuck her. I tried to fuck her. Listen, it’s not safe to take the bus, I said. Let me give you a ride home.

I would never rape someone. But I would take someone home and memorize her pillowcases. Get the smell of her fat boozy armpits on my fingers. Gather details to jerk off later. Maybe steal her fat girl panties with a snail smear of musky cuntcrust on them. What can I say. Progress not perfection.

I’d taken her out in the hall. Come outside with me, I said. Are we leaving? No, no, just for a second. Started kissing her. I tried get a finger into her yoga pants cameltoe and she waved my hand away with her fat arm. I respected her wishes and left. Went home and jerked off. In the fantasy I pushed her arm back and pulled her down black yoga pants and forced it in her fat sweaty cunt and pumped while she cried and said no and then came. In the morning I searched chubby asian creampie on Bing and jerked it again four times. Either every man is like me, or I’m the only one. Either way it’s horrifying.

There were age appropriate women at the party too. White women with good jobs who drink wine sensibly. Their career oriented questions, like cigarette burns on my neck.

Now I’m waiting for my date. I chose this venue so I’d talk to her. Not fuck and run. Of course, last time I took a date here I took her up the block and fucked her and came in three pumps. Well– what are the odds of it happening twice.

I want to stop. But what are my options. Celibacy. I would kill myself. Make money and fuck hookers. Doesn’t count. Meet a nice woman in real life. I’ve been living real life for 40 years. No milk coming out of that tit.

OK– prep for conversation. Discuss ducks. In this pond, there is of course the mallard. Necrophiliac homosexual gang rapist. Corkscrew penis, etc.– everyone knows this already. Come up with some other shit about mallards. The American coot, a charming and gregarious bird. Some sort of Muscovy duck hybrid that is tame enough to be hand fed and comes right up to you. Look, there he is now.

Brush up on her profile. Altruistic schoolteacher who’s been to Peru. Fuck. Girls who travel are smug. It means her parents have money. Which means she doesn’t fuck fast unless she got fingered by the babysitter. Look at me judging. Dear God give me the strength have an open heart.

Dear God let me just enjoy a fucking conversation. Let me give and not take. I had to fuck the last one when she didn’t say interesting shit fast enough. The machine had to take over. You either control life or enjoy it. When I take control it’s a train to fucktown. I know nothing else. To not fuck I’d have to cede command. When you do that girls don’t like you. I can’t escape it. No more than the American Coot can escape building his springtime nest of reeds.

Here she comes. Behind her a bearded hipster walks with his daughter. I will die alone and never have beautiful children. Better fix my hair.

An unattractive woman I don’t like doesn’t want to see me again. I’m pissed. Because she has a perfect pussy.

All I need is one asset. Good face, nice body, nice pussy, nice intellect. Sense of humor, sense of adventure, an interest in Lake Tanganyika cichlids– PICK ONE. Well forget what you can take, my sponsor tells me. Focus on what you give. I got: OK face nice body nice intellect. Sense of humor sense of adventure interest in Lake Tanganyika cichlids. Well read. Minor internet fame, albeit among woman haters. I can play guitar. I can draw. My pecs have a zipper down the middle. My inguinal crease is so cut that when I take a shit a vein pops above my pubis. I can cook. I have a nice place next to a park. Down the street is another park with waterfowl and I can identify them. I know something of their lifestyles. Perhaps this will be of interest. My hair has perfect gray. I’m not short. Not bald. I don’t have big cock but it’s not… the situation isn’t quite clinical. I’m a good guy. Good to be around. People who know me love me. Still. This fat cunt with the one long nipple hair can’t sent me a god damn text back. And I’m too old to shoot up a school so I just have to take it.

]]>http://delicioustacos.com/2015/03/14/diary-on-the-road-to-my-solitary-death/feed/6delicioustacosimage stolen from wikipediaWhat You’re Up Againsthttp://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/25/what-youre-up-against/
http://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/25/what-youre-up-against/#commentsThu, 26 Feb 2015 01:11:47 +0000http://delicioustacos.com/?p=4379]]>I’m sorry but I have to leave early, she tells me. Client in Ventura.

The old man sends a car. When she gets there he prepares a bath with candles. She bathes alone. He busies himself. Sneaks peeks but mostly leaves her be. When she gets out he’ll massage her for a long time. Fleetwood Mac on his fancy stereo. Take her to dinner. Nicest place in town. A glass of wine at home and the car takes her back to L.A. Thousand dollars in her account.

39. Weird age to be a childless man looking for a secretarial job. Alone in a filthy apartment with a cat. Weird age to explain to employers why you’re looking for such a shitty job. Well look, I tell them. I have other shit in my life. My career is not who I am. If you hire me, I will be of service to the best of my ability. My ability is phenomenal. More than yours, I think. I’m smarter than you and better than you. Yet somehow I have no money. On the other hand: we’re all just polyps in a coral. Leaves of grass. Bees in a hive. Whateverthefuck metaphor you want to use. I’m no better than a flagellate in a Petri dish. This makes me happier than anything. I could die this minute. The effect on the universe would be nothing. People would be sad, but they too die. Soon it’ll be like I was never there. That is such a relief. It’s no great waste therefore if I spend the whole day jerking off. By 4pm I’ve switched to horse porn. There are surprisingly few where the horse actually nuts in a girl’s pussy. Horse porn auteurs: too detached from their audience. Do you offer health insurance.

The day after I got home I was sitting in traffic on the 10 West. Job interview. Temp secretary at an organic dog food company. Possible permanent hire if the woman doesn’t come back from maternity leave. Who knows what a young mother will do, said the office manager. Eight minute interview. I knew I didn’t get it when I walked in. From his eyebrows. Drive time: 2 hours round trip. Where do you make the dog food, I asked. I don’t know, he said. The Midwest somewhere.

24 hours earlier I was suspended in the Tanon Strait next to a sea turtle. Warm sighing ocean over coral reefs. You could spend a year looking at one pufferfish. There are a million pufferfish. A million wrasse and clownfish and nudibranchs. Watch out for deadly sea snakes. Back on shore the greatest danger is too many 19 year olds want you to impregnate them.

So who fucking cares that I didn’t get the dog food gig. Except: I need a job now. I need money so I can light my possessions on fire. Go live under a tarp in Negros Oriental. The jungle is warm. The girls all want a long nosed white baby.

I’m sick and it’s not going away. Maybe it’s AIDS, people keep joking. Well maybe it is. If you think I didn’t hit it raw with hookers in the Philippines, you don’t know me. Old expats warn you. Stay away from street girls. They don’t get tested. You don’t know how old they are. You’re caught in a room with an underage girl, you’re going to third world jail, long time. If you think you’re gonna hear that and then not cut to me washing my dick in a rusty garden bucket in a 200 peso per hour motel, jumping up backwards yanking on my pants when a cop blasts his siren to pass someone outside– you don’t know me. I asked if she had a condom. Is OK, she said. I no have a sick. Bad idea but I was malibog.

Angeles. Hookers don’t make you use condoms. They don’t use birth control. They don’t get abortions. They don’t tell you pull out. Single moms mostly. Father’s a local. When he heard about the blessed event he disappeared. Baby’s at home with mom or somebody. Home could be Angeles or it could be fucking Gilligan’s Island. The other johns are old Australians. They wear soccer jerseys and their eyes point in different directions. 2000 pesos gets a girl all night. Six minutes of fucking, nine hours of her murmuring at facebook. Their social media lives are like American strippers. Rage posts at the girl who stole her boyfriend. He’s an aspiring rapper. Gaga, gago she types.

The father’s a local, or he’s a client. Waitress at one of the girly bars was eight months pregnant. Serving swill in a club where every single person smokes 63 peso counterfeit Marlboro reds constantly. Dad was Korean. She’d liked him. He paid $900 for her cherry. They call Koreans 3 3 3’s. 3000 pesos, 3 minutes, 3 inch dick. Metric system for everything but cock size. When he heard about the blessed event he disappeared. Good luck tracking down Mr. Kim. Still, I ask: did you try google. She asks: what is google.

The girl I still jerk off to was deaf. Little beach town. 1800 pesos to bring her to my hotel and cum on her belly after 3 strokes. She couldn’t speak. She could only look in my eyes and smile and squeal like a baby. This made me think she really liked me. Fat belly with a bird tattoo. A kid somewhere. When dad heard about the blessed event he disappeared. After I came too fast we laid around making out. Watched a cartoon called The Amazing World of Gumball. It’s about a cat who goes to school with a retarded Tyrannosaur, a ghost made of paper, and a masked creature with antlers. The cat has a crush on the antler creature. The school was having a dance. Cat couldn’t bring himself to ask antlers to it. I could relate.

I can’t believe I didn’t cum in her. She’d be getting the news now. I’d have disappeared. My son grows up in the jungle. Rooster for a pet. His mother can’t speak but her sister’s English is pretty good. I know because she sold me the deaf girl. He has you until 11:36. She had to make her fingers go 1, 1, 3, 6.

Angeles. Sex tourists. Old white men, there on pensions, there on social security. Young fat men in that Tabasco Sauce branded Hawaiian shirt. Spiky haired men with lizard faces strolling out of an alley with two knobby kneed twelve year olds in tow. They’ve got friends, he volunteers.

Men in clothes so bad that jokes haven’t made it there yet. It’s not Tapout, Ed Hardy. Not fedoras. None of the shit where OKCupid girls say don’t message me if you wear this. Socks with sandals gets close. Crocs. A specific IT worker from Minnesota aesthetic. The Tabasco Sauce branded Hawaiian shirt is the flagship garment of this school. Sports jerseys. Men dressed like Kevin Smith.

And who am I to trash them. I’m there buying pussy like everyone else. Five minutes out of my airport cab in Manila I picked up a street hooker at Kenny Rogers Roasters. First girl I saw whose face was female. Ladyboys are everywhere. Gay culture and trans culture don’t appear to be separate. If you are gay, you dress up like a woman and fuck for money. I asked if she had a condom and she made a confused face. She had a kid. Dad disappeared.

.

When are you gonna write about this. When I can wrap my mind around it. I swam with the sea turtles. Facefucked a street hooker of indeterminate age who crossed herself and prayed before she put it in her mouth and squealed when I came without warning. I sucked another hooker’s tit while rawdogging her and got a mouthful of milk. I saw tall trees looming out of the rain forest mist above a 200 foot waterfall. Talked to the most open hearted people on Earth. Made friends with smart college kids who wanted to take pictures of me and practice English. I want to help them. Go back and start a business. So does everyone else.

Crushed an 18 year old’s pussy while she screamed in agony and her screams made me cum too fast. Then I did it again. She cost 20 dollars. Per facebook she found a sucker now. Fat man from Finland. I’m proud of her. Watched a cockfight. The poor bird ripped savagely, dying; the ref kept picking him up and dropping him down waiting for him to stand. He just bled out. They left him there a long time while money changed hands. Spoke to God in the jungle. Climbed a streambed miles from nowhere in flood waters, almost died. Almost died many times. Learned how to ride a motorcycle. Almost took it off a cliff, almost took into a truck filled with screaming pigs, into another bike with 3 generations of a farm family on it, old people on the back and babies on the handlebars. Swam out into Subic Bay 200 yards, put my hand on something sharp on a piling and it broke off in the flesh of my palm. I remembered the aquarium display: death from a lionfish sting is slow and agonizing. It was a sea urchin. Later I saw them in the reefs; they’re covered in spikes but they still hide. A good metaphor for something but I don’t know what it is. Talked to sex tourists, sex workers, sex trafficked children, trying to figure out what made the whole thing tick. How can I get those kids the fuck out of there, how can I make money so I can build them a home or something… five years later I’ll come back and fuck them raw. 20 dollars. Manila to Angeles to Olungapo to Cebu to Dumaguete in two weeks. Half the trip was transit, buses through the jungle. They play VHS tapes of Manny Pacquiao fights. Cab drivers ask if you like Manny Pacquiao. Say yes.

I was an openhearted ambassador for my country. I was a degenerate scumbag exploiting poor young girls. For five minutes I was a ”journalist” when I found two 12 year olds kept in a scummy apartment complex with a cat drowned in the pool. Doubtless hired out by an old Australian with eyes pointing different directions. Tried to talk to them about how’d it come to this but they didn’t tell me shit, just gamed me. They kept trying to sell me pussy and I was to afraid to be in a room with them while they did each other’s hair and watched porn. Well who needs an expose of the child sex trade. Everyone already knows. Cinder block sheds half built with tarp roofs, open sewers, weird karaoke huts deep in the jungle made of bamboo. Monkeys. Jungle birds screaming. Everywhere I went the kids wanted me to play basketball.

I need to go back. Warm rain hissing in the coconut palms. The girls. Start a business. I’ll be king of these monkey faced primitives. With the wheel and the sharpened stick I’ll be their god. Impregnate their teens. When the men get surly I’ll point at an eclipse. Tell them I’m eating the sun.

Need to go back. Make babies. The women don’t think giving birth is a fate worse than death. I’ll be a gross old rapist in crocs and so what. Now I need money. Time to make dog food.

]]>http://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/23/philippines-vacation/feed/16delicioustacosph prehistoricph subic sunsetph danielph barnph olongapoph fuck lovePussy Incorporatedhttp://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/22/pussy-incorporated/
http://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/22/pussy-incorporated/#commentsSun, 22 Feb 2015 17:19:16 +0000http://delicioustacos.com/?p=4360]]>If you told me you want me as your boyfriend, I’d be happy. If I could tell you I want you as my girlfriend, I’d do it. But that would make you leave. Find other men. My holding back is the only way you want me. I have to have other girls to keep you.

Pussy is a corporation. I’m an employee. A corporation gives as little as it can until it’s forced to give more to keep you. How well you do your job doesn’t matter. It’s barely considered. What matters is how much others want to poach you. Whether you get kept and what you get paid depends only on leverage.

They were at El Prado. He had mineral water. She had dry Riesling. So I have to ask you something, she said.

He knew what was coming but pretended not to. Go ahead.

Are you really as much of an asshole as you say on your blog?

It’s factually true. Things I say happened, happened. But I leave out the parts where I’m a functioning human being most days. It’s boring to say I woke up and took a healthy shit and earned money and paid taxes. Emotional reactions are heightened. Particularly with regard to sex. For instance, I don’t literally want my mouth and nose to be skin grafted onto a 40 year old alcoholic Cambodian woman’s asshole.

My friends told me not to go out with you.

Yes, I know, he thought. That’s part of it. Your friends will tell you not to go out with me which means you have to. Your friends will tell you not to fuck me which means you have to. Don’t think about elephants. Your friends will tell you I’m a pig but it won’t stick until I start liking you and that’s when you leave. And yet here you are, he said.

You know girls are scared of you and you love it, she said.

It’s true, he said. And it was. Or it had been for a while. Now, it wouldn’t hurt to hear something new. But this wasn’t going to be the night. Anyway, I walked here– did you drive?

Uh huh.

Where did you park?

Why are you asking me that.

Why don’t you give me a ride back to my place and we can take a walk in the park.

Oh, and we’re going to listen to the owls and you can try to fuck me?

Correct.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Let me close out my tab.

I can’t believe you’re doing the exact same thing with me that you wrote about 5,000 times and I’m fucking agreeing to it.

How do you think I feel.

Each time they had different drinks and stayed different lengths at the bar. But the tab was always 36 dollars. He still had to think to figure out 20%. The bartender tonight was the one from Bryn Mawr. A floutist. He’d talked to her about BWV 1013. J.S. Bach’s only solo flute composition.

She didn’t recognize him. He needed to spell his name to get the credit card back. When she took the receipt she said thanks with a hint of fuck you on her breath. He could never figure out his transgression.

On the walk to the car he held out his arm. She put her hand in the crook of his elbow. How gentlemanly, she said.

Notice that my bicep is like a cobblestone.

He pulled her in for a kiss on the corner. She didn’t smoke. He used to worry about his tongue tasting like cigarettes but it turned out the effect was overstated. Her car would be nice but ten years old and she would apologize for it. It would be clean but there would be one paper bag and maybe a notebook in the passenger footwell. She’d apologize for the mess. She would plug in her phone with the aux cable and play recent hip hop or R & B. She would apologize for it. This is me, she said. 2004 ML350, black.

I like this car.

It’s old, she said. I’m going to get a new one soon. Sorry it’s a mess.

My car is 13 years older than you. And my toilet is full of silverfish.

She turned the ignition and plugged the phone into the radio. Iggy Azalea’s Fancy played. Oh God, she said– this is a guilty pleasure. I know you like, uh… what’s that thing you always play.

Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun by Debussy.

Right.

Don’t feel bad. I spent all day reading rape arguments on Twitter.

It’s funny that you listen to classical stuff instead of… like, a lot of guys like you play Frank Sinatra.

When Sinatra got a girl home he’d play Ravel.

and swear I meant that there so much that they give that line a rewind, said the radio. What did it mean.

**********

I’m gonna cum too fast the first time. But give me about 15 minutes and I’ll get hard again, he said. I’m sorry but you’re just too hot. She asked about a condom. I don’t have any diseases, he said. Have you been tested? Not since the Philippines. I can’t not tell you that I had unprotected sex with prostitutes over there. But it’s mechanically impossible for a straight man to get an STD.

I hope they were 18 at least.

I have no idea.

He did cum too fast. They kissed for a minute and then turned their attention back to the movie. The Baader Meinhof Complex. Young German terrorists suffer from brutality, paranoia and infighting as they campaign violently to end American imperialism over 10 years. The women were painfully hot. The message, therefore, was: become a terrorist. I need to wash your sperm out of me, she said.

When she went in the bathroom she was white. When she came out she was Asian. His hair was longer and he had the beginnings of a beard. The TV was playing Z by Costa-Gavras. He was surprised at how beautiful she looked naked. Let’s go in the bedroom, he said.

He did last longer the second time. He came on her ass crack and then kissed the back of her neck. Put his face in her hair.

I’m glad I met you, he said.

Yeah, I like you for some reason.

I like you too, he said.

I wonder what it is. You’re a scumbag but you surprised me with the Debussy.

You didn’t remember that? I talk about it on OKCupid.

We didn’t meet on OKCupid. It was Tinder, she said.

Are you sure?

I don’t have OKCupid. I don’t think anyone does anymore.

Will you go out with me again?

I don’t know, honestly. You’re hot but I kind of need a guy with a job.

Why don’t you just stay with me until you find him.

We’ll see, she said, and dug her face between his arm and chest. Let out a warm breath on his skin. They fell asleep with a big wind shaking the palms and the coyotes crying in the hills. He thought: please let her stay.

**********

When they woke up she was Mexican. Her eyebrows were weird but her ass was like a poster. His hair was short again. Hers was curly. I have to get home to my son, she said. But thank you. I had a nice time with you.

Yeah, me too, he said. Let’s uh…

You’re going to invite me over for chicken.

Correct. How about it.

OK, she said. Text me. She kissed his forehead almost like a mother. Started looking for her bra. The blinds were open. Outside a mockingbird sat on a wire with a blade of dead grass in its beak. It must be spring.

Summer’s over. Maybe I’ll get fat. Not walking around with my shirt off sunup to sundown every weekend. If you’re not in shape, try being in shape. Pussy just falls on you. I used to think girls liked my personality. Now I’ve come to the horrifying conclusion that I’m physically attractive. This means everything I think and believe is bullshit. My mind is merely tolerated. At least I don’t have a big wang.

Summer’s over and it’s getting cold and I want to go to bed at nine P.M. and huddle with my cat. Eat stews with parsnips in them. Drink two and a half glasses of inexpensive pinot noir and crawl under blankets. The only girls I want to see are whatever my dreaming brain creates to explain the feeling of my night dick rubbing the mattress. I don’t want to go out. Don’t want to get drunk. Don’t want to do cocaine and smoke cigarettes. I want a healthy balanced diet and a good book. This was prompted by it being slightly under seventy degrees today.

My hair’s going gray and my nuts often hurt for no reason. It takes four days to recover from leg day. Four days to recover from any workout. Some part of me is always sore. I’m always crabwalking. Hobbling around like a poorly made muppet. Hips creak like an old ship’s mast. I don’t want to go out and drink and chase pussy. I want a fuckin fireplace and an oriental rug. Big desk with one of those green lamps on it. An old typewriter maybe. I want kids. Not babies though, I want to skip the part where they shit on you. They run into my study happy to see me; crawl into bed on a cold night because they’re scared. I want to live in a cave with my cave wife and cave kids covered in the pelts of shit I killed.

I’m old and sick and cold and I just want to retire from busting my ass. I want money for free and trouble free relationships and a nice bowl of beef stew with parsnips in it. They’re sweet. Little cinnamony. Why isn’t this root vegetable more beloved.

]]>http://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/11/2012-diary-summers-over/feed/4delicioustacosimage stolen from nationalgallery.org.ukHow I Met Your Motherhttp://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/10/how-i-met-your-mother/
http://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/10/how-i-met-your-mother/#commentsTue, 10 Feb 2015 13:01:10 +0000http://delicioustacos.com/?p=4342]]>We met on a web site. Computers still showed two dimensional images then. People would post their pictures and a few paragraphs about themselves, trying to get a date. A woman chose pictures where she looked thinnest and her face looked most like a child. A man said he was taller than he was and chose pictures where his jawbone stuck out. Men sent messages to women. Hoped the women would pick them. Women waited to be picked.

People had to pretend it was about getting married. Really it was about fucking. Men wanted to fuck much more than women back then. No way you could imagine it now. It was like a hunger where you’d kill a man over a Dorito. It was like being on fire and fucking was the only way to put it out. Women didn’t quite feel that way. They felt something complicated and weird until they met a tall man with the right size jawbone. Then suddenly their feelings were comparable. It was all a nightmare frankly. No one ever got anything done. No wonder the ugly people took over and had us all castrated.

]]>http://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/10/how-i-met-your-mother/feed/6delicioustacosImportant Messagehttp://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/09/important-message/
http://delicioustacos.com/2015/02/09/important-message/#commentsTue, 10 Feb 2015 02:51:19 +0000http://delicioustacos.com/?p=4339]]>The phone rings. An automated message in Spanish. The only words I understand are “mensaje importante” and “escuela.” Important message from school. I get these twice a week. I press buttons. Nothing makes it English or puts a person on or gets an answering machine. Call back, get an 18 minute outgoing message about which dates free school lunch applications are accepted in person. Friday… July… 18th.. from…. 12…PM…to… 2… PM. 20 of those and then again in Spanish. The mailbox is full.

Some kid whose parents are poor immigrants is supposed to get an important message from his school. He can’t get it because they have one digit wrong. Maybe the parents are supposed to show up to a conference and they don’t. Maybe the kid is going to gets suspended. They could have fought back. He’d have graduated. Not now. Maybe it’s the call that they don’t have his signed permission slip. All the other kids get to go on a cool field trip and he’s left behind by himself. He is crying; he feels like shit, because I can’t figure out how to get through to these people. My kid, I think. My kid, because he has my phone number, is getting fucked out of the field trip and it’s devastating him.

How come the phone never rings when I’m standing near a Mexican. I’m always near Mexicans. Hand it off to them and they could tell me what to do, but no. I’m sorry, Pedro. Maria. Whateverthefuck your name is. Your future is destroyed. My fault.